


The War Inside

by aguantare



Series: Sin Fronteras [16]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Racism, slashy if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 05:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10847676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aguantare/pseuds/aguantare
Summary: It happens fast. Things like this always do. One second Neymar is flying down the sideline, the next he’s on the turf, hot pain flaring up and down the back of his left calf.





	The War Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [La guerra interna](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10895367) by [Deiv17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiv17/pseuds/Deiv17)



> Disclaimer: don't know them, don't own them, don't sue me.
> 
> Unintended hiatus was unintended. New job and all that. Was inspired to write this after training a few sessions with a local U18 boys team whose players are all Latino and hearing them talk about how they aren't allowed to speak Spanish during games because white American teams think they might be talking shit about them. Feedback is <3.

It happens fast. Things like this always do. One second Neymar is flying down the sideline, the blue and white jerseys of Cathedral High opponents flashing by in his peripheral vision, the next he’s on the turf, hot pain flaring up and down the back of his left calf. As he rolls onto his side, reaching instinctively for his leg, knees loom large in his vision and then a hand shoves his shoulder hard. 

“Get up, fuckin’ wetback.”

Neymar swats the hand away, scrambles to get to his feet, but before he can even get one knee up, someone else has barged in. Whoever it is, they nearly step on Neymar’s ankle in the process, but Neymar can tell by the red socks that it’s one of his teammates. He straightens up just in time to register that it’s James, and Neymar has a split second to be straight-up shocked before James swings, and lands, a solid punch right into the jaw of Cathedral’s #15. The Cathedral player swings back, misses, and James hits him again. Acting more on instinct than anything else, Neymar grabs James by the shoulders.

“ _Ya, ya_ ,” Neymar says, pulling his teammate back and away as players and coaches and refs descend on the scene. It’s the only Spanish he can think of at the moment, and James shoves at him, genuinely trying to wrestle away, eyes still fixed on the Cathedral player, everything in him strained in anger. 

“ _Ya_ ,” Neymar says again, more sharply, gets his arms around James’ shoulders, guides him bodily toward the sideline. James grapples against him for a few more seconds, then seems to relax, lets Neymar walk him the rest of the way to the bench.

“Man, fuck that _pendejo_ ,” James snaps, throwing himself down on the bench, separate and apart from everyone else, “Fuck him.” His voice wavers, just a little.

Neymar glances over his shoulder at the slowly dissipating chaos on the field, then back at James. He’s pulling off his boots and socks now. Or trying to. It doesn’t escape Neymar’s notice that his hands are shaking. Neymar knows he should say something, thank James or something like that, but he can’t quite find the words. 

James has to leave the field because of the red card he gets, so Neymar doesn’t see him again until the team gets back to the locker room with a desperately defended 2-1 win. He’s already in his street clothes, and judging by the look on his face, he’s had a thorough dressing down by the coach. Neymar takes his time changing out of his uniform and dropping it in the laundry, so by the time he gets back to his locker, James is the only one left in the room. 

Feeling uncertain, Neymar shoulders his bag and walks over to where his teammate is sitting. The space between them—between Neymar’s frayed, second-hand T-shirt and James’ clean, new button-down, between Neymar’s LA-influenced Chicano accent and James’ fluid, unaccented English, between the tattoos that darken Neymar’s arms and James’ clean, unscarred skin—doesn’t feel quite as wide as usual. 

James looks up at him for a few seconds, then looks back down. Neymar still isn’t sure what to say; up until half an hour ago, he didn’t think James even liked him. 

“Hey,” he says eventually. James looks up again, and Neymar holds out a hand, curled into a fist.

“Nice right hook,” he says. The corner of James’ mouth quirks up, just a little, and he knocks his knuckles against Neymar’s.

“Thanks,” he replies. 

“I owe you,” Neymar adds. James raises one shoulder in a half-shrug, then shakes his head. 

“Nah,” he says. Neymar senses he wants to say something more, but instead he hesitates, then shrugs again and doesn’t continue. Neymar shifts the strap of his gym bag on his shoulder, wishes he could push, knows that he can’t. 

“ _Nos vemos_ , yeah?” he says instead. It’s an entirely casual conversation-ender here in the heart of southern California, the kind of thing you say five, ten times a day to everyone from your parents to the bus driver. And yet Neymar’s pretty sure he’s never said it to James before today.

“Yeah, man,” James responds without hesitation, jutting his chin up in acknowledgment, “ _Nos vemos_.”

Neymar lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.

**Author's Note:**

>  _ya_ : literally, now or already, but sometimes used in the context of “okay, enough already.”  
>  _pendejo_ : asshole, jerk  
>  _nos vemos_ : see you (later)


End file.
